And After the War, Peace Comes Not Easy
by Esther-Channah
Summary: On the way back from Namorn, Briar has a nightmare. It's one Tris knows all too well. TW: Implied PTSD; Spoilers: Tris's Book, Battle Magic Timeline: Immediately following Will of the Empress.


Disclaimer: Characters and locales are the property of Tamora Pierce. I am receiving no financial remuneration for this work of fanfiction. However a donation was made to disaster relief efforts in Nepal in exchange for my writing it.

For: Tolkienfancaiti

A/N: Thanks to Kathy for the beta! Enahar's lines taken from _Tris's Book_. In the PDF edition, they appear on page 117.

References: _Tris's Book, Battle Magic_

Timeline: Immediately after _Will of the Empress_ , on the journey back from Namorn.

 **And After the War, Peace Comes Not Easy**

For the first time in a long time, Briar didn't dream of Gyongxe. He was back at Winding Circle, reliving some of the events of his first summer in the temple city. That didn't make it a good dream, though. As near as he knew, he'd been ten that year. Now an adult, he watched his younger self as he flew over thorny plants, rose bushes and brambles more than six feet high, exulting and relieved as he saw pirates fleeing the mainland, running for their longboats for all they were worth. The older Briar shook his head. It was hard to remember that he'd ever been that young, that unthinking. All he'd seen was that they were winning.

No... he realized with mounting horror, as he watched his younger self's interest piqued by something glinting on the ground. That hadn't been all he'd seen—not hardly. He tried frantically to get his ten-year-old self's attention, warn him that the medallion was a trap... but he saw his slim brown hand with its black 'X' tattoo reach out to prod the engraved golden disc... and he heard a cell door clang shut as his young self froze in his tracks, trapped in an invisible prison, magic leeching out of him, leaving him alone and immobilized.

No. No, he couldn't be a prisoner. He wouldn't be a slave. He would die first. A chill passed through him. Would they even allow him the choice? Frantic, he raced to the beach. He had to break himself free before Weishu... no, not Weishu, _Enahar_ put him in another cage like Parahan... his friends held hostage to his good behavior. No, it wasn't going to happen. NO...

* * *

So far, it had all been memory. But now, inexplicably, he found himself blown along a gust of air trailing in his foster sister's wake. He knew what was happening; Tris had told them all later, when the attack was over. It was one thing, though, to hear an account second-hand. It was another to live it.

"Most impressive, lightning-girl." The voice that spoke in his mind was harsh and bitter, like a killing frost, with no hint of light or warmth. "Still," it continued in the same dry tone, "I might look around, if I were you. Throw that bolt at me, and you will not like the consequences."

Near him, he could feel Tris tense. The wind and rain picked up but neither could move that cold sharp presence.

"Do not blame him, child," the voice continued, and for a moment, Briar was confused. It sounded like he was missing half of the exchange. But then, it wasn't too hard to fill in the blanks. Enahar had to be talking about Tris's cousin Aymery, who had betrayed Winding Circle to the pirates, only to have those same pirates murder him in cold blood, once he was of no further use. He cursed himself for a bleat-brain. Enahar had kept talking while Briar had been trying to sort out the conversation. What had he missed?

"You murdered him!" Tris cried.

Briar sighed inwardly. The pirate mage was well aware of what he'd done, and Briar hadn't detected the slightest hint of remorse in his tone. Once, he might have wondered how anyone could be so cold and uncaring. Then his thoughts turned to a ruler who, upon finding mold on his rose bushes, had not only burned the bushes, but the gardeners who tended them. He had given the order without batting an eye, without allowing a crack to show in his genial façade. Briar hadn't been sure what had been more horrifying: the command itself, or the casualness with which Emperor Weishu had given it...

...He had to keep his thoughts from drifting. He was missing too much of the scene that was unfolding before him now. And he knew that when this was over, Tris was going to need him. Sometimes, she awoke from these dreams outraged, sometimes broken, sometimes horrified. He'd never really understood before his travels east, though he'd tried for her sake. Sadly, Briar didn't think he needed to try anymore. He pulled his thoughts away from Weishu and Yanjing and back to the pirates of his tenth summer.

The battle ended as it always did: Tris destroyed the pirate fleet, then he, Sandry, and Daja had destroyed Aymery's earring, yanking her loose from the pirate mage's death-grip. But in battle, it wasn't only the wicked who became casualties. Countless slaves had descended in chains to watery graves when the pirate galleys blew apart. Death had not come quick nor clean for them. And of those who survived, whether pirates to face the Duke's justice, or prisoners to try to make their ways back to their homes, many had been burned or maimed by battle fire and falling timbers. And Tris had been reliving this in nightmares for nearly eight years.

Briar awoke in a cold sweat. For a moment, panic seized him when he realized that this wasn't Winding Circle. Then he relaxed as he remembered. He might not be back at Winding Circle, but this was neither Yanjing nor Gyongxe. This was the inn on the Olart-Anderran border where he and his foster sisters were lodging on the road back from Namorn. He closed his eyes again, but sleep didn't come. Instead, he saw the images from his dream again. Briar rolled over, as though that would shake him free of the vision. He had his own memories to haunt him now, thanks to Weishu. How long would they grip him and could he survive their grim embrace without going mad? How did Tris bear it?

The blankets were suddenly too hot and constricting. He flung them off, pulled his breeches and tunic on over his loincloth, and jammed his bare feet into his boots. He needed some air and green plants about him. There was a kitchen garden behind the inn. Earlier, he'd caught lavender and lemon balm on the breeze. Good smells. Calm smells. He moved noiselessly toward the front door, taking pains not to wake the others.

* * *

As he walked the dirt path between the spearmint and the lemon balm (half-heartedly scolding the mint for trying to encroach on the patch allocated to the basil and wondering why he was bothering—it wasn't like the herb would listen for longer than a day, at the very most), he spied a familiar figure sitting in the branches of an olive tree. "Couldn't sleep, Copper Curls?" he called up softly.

Tris unplaited one of her braids partway and, in answer, a breeze stirred the treetop. She slid from her perch and floated gently to the ground. With a smile, she redid her braid and tied off. The breeze died. "I needed some air," she replied. Her smile faded. "Did you have those dreams again?"

Briar hesitated. "Not mine. But I think I got one of yours." He told her briefly what he meant. When he was finished, she rested a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I still get those from time to time, though not as often as I did when I was a... kid." The old thieves' cant slang came awkwardly to her lips now. Briar doubted she'd used it since she and Niko had headed for Tharios, over four years earlier. "That was what woke me tonight," she added, almost matter-of-factly. "I thought getting out in the wind would help me calm down and get back to sleep and that tree," she gestured behind her, "was the highest place I could get to." Her eyes widened. "I'm sorry, Briar. I didn't think. It didn't mind my sitting in it, did it?"

Briar shook his head, smiling. "No, though it's good you sailed up on the wind; the fruit will be ready to harvest in Wort Moon, and that's less than a month away. If you'd tried climbing, you'd likely have bruised some."

Tris looked at the tree and shuddered. "Climb in these skirts? I should think not," she said, brushing her dress fastidiously. "I am sorry, though," she added. "I think... we weren't connected for so long and now we are, but maybe, now that we've reopened those links..." she took a deep breath. "Is it possible that when we sleep, we're... leaking our dreams to each other?" She twisted her apron hem in her hands and, despite himself, Briar smiled. Only Tris would dress fully before going outside to calm down enough to go to sleep. "The reason I ask," Tris continued, "is because when I had that dream tonight, there were some things that just... didn't belong. Like... paintings of tigers and snake people making faces at me..."

Briar frowned. There _had_ been something like that in his dream, too—at least, he thought so. Now where had that come from? He knew that it was probably some bit of nonsense that had worked its way in, like the time he'd dreamed that he was back in the Chammur market, telling prospective buyers about his shakkan trees, only to look down and discover that he was completely naked and nobody seemed to notice or care.

"...And I could smell incense," Tris continued. "Not the kind they use at Winding Circle. This was... heavier. Muskier," she said. "And there was this... bell..."

"Gong," Briar corrected wearily. "It was a gong." He shuddered. "Every time I think I hear one, all I can think about is the emperor's troops and the dead on the battlefield and..." His shoulders sagged. "I guess you know something about it."

Uncharacteristically, Tris reached out and brushed his cheek. "I guess I do," she replied. "Would it... Do you think it might help to talk about it?"

Briar closed his eyes. "I'm not... it might. Maybe. Another time. Right now, though," he sighed, "I think I just want to stay out here for a while."

"Do you want to be left alone?" Tris asked.

Briar slowly shook his head from side to side. "No."

"I'll stay, then."

Had he thought she pitied him, he probably could have held his feelings in check. But this was Tris: brisk, sensible, matter-of-fact Tris. There was no pity in her voice, but there was compassion and there was caring. And when a low sob broke past his defenses and she pulled him close, he buried his face in the shoulder of her sensible blue dress and, for the first time since he'd awoken, he felt his tension drain away.

It wasn't over. Gyongxe was still with him. The next time he closed his eyes, he might well dream about it all over again. But when he opened his eyes once more, he wouldn't be alone. He clasped Tris's hands in his and held on.


End file.
